


Moments

by Annaelle



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Blowjobs, I have no idea what I'm doing, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Takes place somewhere at the start, only briefly though, somewhat angsty, when Erik tries to leave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr’s mind was most unlike any other mind Charles had ever encountered before. Over the course of his life, he had been subjected to a plethora of different minds already—both inherently good, innocent minds and sick, depraved souls that even Charles and his desire to see good in everyone couldn’t excuse.Erik Lehnsherr, however, was unlike all of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and my first step into X-Men universe, so do be kind, please :D Anyway, just an idea that popped into my head when I was watching First Class. 
> 
> I do apologize if they're OOC. I tried my best :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments are life!
> 
> Love, Annaelle

# Moments

## “There's always a moment that separates the past from the future,   
and that moment is now.”   
―Aniekee Tochukwu Ezekiel

Erik Lehnsherr’s mind was most unlike any other mind Charles had ever encountered before. Over the course of his life, he had been subjected to a plethora of different minds already—both inherently _good_ , innocent minds and sick, depraved souls that even Charles and his desire to see good in everyone couldn’t excuse.

Erik Lehnsherr, however, was unlike all of them.

There was a meticulously organized structure to his thoughts, and, though Charles had met his fair share of polyglots during his days at Oxford, he had never met anyone who thought in so many languages at once. Erik’s surface thoughts tended to linger on whichever language he was speaking at the time—mostly English, when he was in Charles’ presence—but Charles had heard him slip into German or French and even Dutch quite a few times during CIA briefings.

Charles reckoned that Erik might be the most fascinating man he had ever met, not to mention one of the most handsome ones, and he was quite surprised to find just how quickly he became unwilling to give up the chance to get to know him. Of course, he was no fool, and he’d realized from the moment he and Erik had been pulled back on board the ship by the CIA that Erik had absolutely no intention of sticking around any longer than he needed to get any and all information the CIA had on Shaw. 

The drive back to the covert CIA base had been long and awkward, because Erik had refused to reply to anyone with anything more than monosyllabic grunts, though Charles had felt the older man’s gaze rest upon him a fair few times during their journey.

The temptation to peek into Erik’s head, just to see what he was thinking—just to figure out if the other man was as _affected_ as he was—had almost been too great to resist, but after the glimpses of Erik’s turbulent and violent past that Charles had caught earlier, he had no desire to violate Erik’s privacy like that ever again.

As such, he’d allowed himself to be swept up in the excitement of being at a top secret CIA base, being asked to _help_ the country with his gifts—

Charles was so caught up in all of it that he almost forgot to keep an eye on Erik, until he felt a spike of triumph from the older man’s mind, and he had to rush through the facility to make it to the front doors before Erik did. He leaned back against the wall as he felt Erik’s mind approach, and vaguely wondered what he would _say_ to make him stay.

He had no intention of influencing his mind, but he also did not want to lose the opportunity to _know_ Erik Lehnsherr and everything that he was.

“From what I know about you, I’m surprised you’ve managed to stay this long.”

The words fell from his lips without any sort of prior thought to them as he stepped out onto the path, carefully eyeing Erik as the taller man stopped dead in his tracks before turning towards him.

“What do you know about me?”

Charles wasn’t quite sure what to make of the cautious, wary tone with which Erik spoke, but he could _feel_ curiosity radiating from the other man’s mind. He allowed himself a wry smile before he took another step towards Erik and said, “Everything.”

It was not, perhaps, entirely true, but Charles felt as though he had already seen into the very fabric of Erik’s mind and had already determined what made him tick.

He already knew the most important things.

Erik scowled at his reply and said, carefully enunciating every word, “Then you know to stay _out_ of my head.” Before Charles could reply, he had already turned away again, fully intent on leaving Charles and his merry band of baby mutants—as Erik had dubbed Raven and Hank in his mind—behind.

And it would, perhaps, be simpler and more prudent to let Erik go, but something deep inside Charles—something he could not quite identify or explain—rebelled against the idea.

And so, he persisted, and followed Erik.

“I’m sorry, Erik, but I’ve seen what Shaw did to you.” The words were a little rushed, and slightly harsh, and Charles barely suppressed a wince at the spike of _fear_ projected from Erik’s mind before the other man managed to get a hold of himself. “I’ve _felt_ your agony,” he added, desperate to make the other man _understand_ that he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

“I can help you,” he said, pushing his hands a little deeper into his pockets as Erik remained silent.

Finally, the other man turned, and Charles was slightly taken aback by the look of raw _agony_ in Erik’s eyes as he evenly replied, “I don’t need your help.”

Charles nearly scoffed and stepped closer once again. “Don’t kid yourself. You needed my help last night. It’s not just me you’re walking away from.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he phrased it quite like that, but he could tell he was getting through to Erik, so he persevered. “Here, you have the chance to be a part of something much bigger than yourself.”

Erik stared at him, and Charles found himself utterly entranced by the greyish blue of the other man’s eyes. Erik _wanted_ to stay—he could tell—but he was _frightened_ and unwilling to take a chance on them, and Charles supposed he couldn’t fault him for that.

Perhaps if he had been forced to live through the things Erik had, he would feel the same.

“I won’t stop you leaving,” he finally spoke, after a short, tense silence. “I could. But I won’t.”  

 He maintained their eye contact for as long as he could, taking a few steps backward before he turned and returned to the door. “Shaw’s got friends,” he tossed over his shoulder, smirking at the flash of distracted heat he felt from Erik mind—it _was_ good to know the magnetic attraction he felt wasn’t one-sided—before he refocused. “You could do with some.”

“Charles.”

He paused, but before he could turn to look at Erik, the other man was suddenly right behind him, pressing the length of his body against Charles’ back as the small briefcase he carried clattered onto the concrete path. Charles’ breath hitched, but he didn’t dare to move, both frightened that if he did, Erik would move away, and that it would be _real_ and he’d be dangerously close to stepming over a line he’d flirted with before but never actually crossed.

“Erik,” he breathed, heart pounding when the other man curled his fingers into his belt loops, tugging him closer. He could feel the warmth of Erik’s lips against the back of his neck, and the chaos within Erik’s mind, so unlike his usual thought pattern.

“You said you knew everything,” Erik whispered, lips barely brushing across Charles’ all-too-sensitive skin. “Did you see this? Did you see what _perversions_ he made me like? Am I not too _broken_ for your righteous cause? Too _sick_ in the head for wanting this with a man? With _you_?”

And Charles’ heart _ached_ for this man, who’d been forced to believe that he was _sick_ , that there was something fundamentally _wrong_ with him because of who he loved. “Erik,” he sighed softly, reaching down to touch his hand to Erik’s, pushing calm and comfort towards him as much as he dared. “There is nothing wrong with you, my friend. Love is, after all, still love, whatever form it takes.”

He felt Erik tremble behind him, and he was suddenly _terrified_ , because he didn’t really know how to stop Erik from pushing him away again. And so he did the only thing he could think of and turned in Erik’s arms, pushing up onto his toes and pressed his lips to Erik’s.

There was a moment in which he could feel Erik clam up entirely, frozen in disbelief and fear, and he feared he had made a terrible mistake, before Erik _melted_ against him and returned the kiss with a kind of breathless urgency that made his legs feel weak. He could almost _taste_ the desperation on Erik’s lips, _feel_ the urgency and anguish behind Erik’s frantic touches and kisses and he _knew_.

He understood.

Erik was clinging onto their connection—new and fragile though it may be—in a desperate attempt to hang onto his sanity and his humanity, and Charles was all too happy to explore whatever it was that seemed to draw them together.

He was not, of course, opposed to letting Erik have his way with him either.

He kissed him back, curling his hand around the back of the taller man’s neck as Erik deepened the kiss, licking his way into Charles’ mouth as he pressed their bodies even closer together. It was a messy kiss—all teeth and tongue—and Charles couldn’t suppress a whimper when Erik’s grip on his hair turned _almost_ painful.

“Erik,” he choked when the other man used his grip on Charles’ hair to pull his head back, breaking the rather frantic kiss, to mouth his way down Charles’ throat with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, going cross-eyed when Erik’s teeth scraped over his skin, before allowing himself to get _lost_ in the sensation of _Erik_. He did not even realize they were moving until his back hit the concrete wall just to the side of the entrance, knocking what little breath he had left from his lungs, and Erik’s lips once again took his in a downright _filthy_ kiss.

He groaned against Erik’s lips as the other man palmed him through his trousers, digging his blunt fingernails into Erik’s shoulders when the older man bit down on the skin just above his collarbone before soothing over the mark with his tongue.

“ _Erik_ ,” he whined, slipping his hands down Erik’s back to his—really bloody fantastic—arse, pulling Erik’s hips down to grind against his and _bloody fucking hell_ —

“I want you,” Erik panted against Charles’ lips, grinding himself against Charles’ downright _painful_ hard-on. “I want you far _too much_. This can’t be normal.” There was a part of Charles’ mind that wanted to deny Erik’s words, that wanted to tell him he wanted him just as much, but he was too lost in _everything_ , and he could scarcely recall his own name, much less the rest of the English language.

“I want you, too,” he choked, just as Erik managed to shove his trousers down, curling his warm fingers around Charles’ erection, and Charles nearly came on the spot.

“I don’t know what to _do_ ,” Erik croaked, and Charles’ heart clenched at the pure _agony_ in Erik’s voice.

He _loathed_ that there wasn’t anything he could do to _change_ how Erik felt right now.

“Neither do I,” he breathed, tangling his fingers in the back of Erik’s shirt as he leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw. “But I am right here with you, my friend. You are _not_ alone.”

Erik shuddered in his arms, eyes slipping shut as he tipped forward to rest his forehead against Charles’. After a short moment, Erik reached down and slipped his fingers between Charles’, drawing their hands up until they’re pressed against the cold concrete above their heads.

“Keep them there,” Erik told him hoarsely, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide, before he leaned in for a slower, deeper kiss than before. Charles’ eyes fluttered shut as Erik slid his tongue along his own, drawing a soft, small moan from him once again. 

He could not contain the whimper that fell from his lips, and he could feel Erik smile against his lips.

Erik’s hands skimmed down Charles’ chest, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband of his trousers and tugging them down impatiently. Charles couldn’t suppress a gasp when his erection was freed and arched into Erik’s touch when the older man wrapped his fingers around his length again.

Erik hummed amusedly against his lips before breaking the kiss. “Someone’s excited,” he muttered, and Charles wanted to smack—or kiss—that mischievous grin from his lips.

“ _Bloody hell_ , Erik,” Charles groaned, fingers itching with the urge to _touch_ Erik. “Get on with it, you insufferable _prat_.”

His breath caught in his throat again when Erik grinned against his neck, tightening his fingers around Charles’ hard length in retaliation. “Watch it, Charles,” Erik murmured as he kissed his way down Charles chest—and when did he unbutton his shirt?—pausing to nip at one of Charles’ nipples. “I might just leave you like this. _Desperate_. _Wanting_.”

Any retort Charles may have had disappeared from his mind when Erik gazed up at him from beneath his lashes, lips pressing a kiss to the tip of Charles’ cock as he wrapped his fingers around the base. Charles’ head fell back against the wall, relishing in the _delicious_ feel of Erik’s hands and lips on him, moaning rather loudly as he tried to resist the urge to drop his hands and tug on Erik’s hair.

He was _so close_ , teetering on the edge, his fingers tangled together above his head, knuckles turning white.

“Dear God, _Erik_ ,” he groaned, lost in the sensation of Erik’s lips sliding along his heated flesh, too far gone to actually care that they were still in public, that anyone could walk in on them—that whatever good standing they had managed to achieve with the CIA would be immediately undone if they found out they were both mutants _and_ queer.

He simply didn’t _care_.

Tension built, deep within him, and all it took to send him over the edge was Erik pulling off of him for a second to whisper, “Come on, Charles. Come for me.” A deep, drawn-out moan was torn from his lips as he fell apart, arching his hips up into Erik’s touch, head tipping backwards against the wall.

He would’ve sworn he could see an entire galaxy of stars and colors explode behind his eyelids, reveling in the euphoric ecstasy that washed over him. 

He felt as though he were floating, drifting off into the dark vastness that was space.

When he finally came back to himself, he was slumped against the wall, Erik still kneeling at his feet with the smallest, terribly enticing, drop of come smeared in the corner of his mouth, buttoning up Charles’ trousers with a cold, detached sort of efficiency, and Charles could feel him pulling away before he’d even spoken.

He tried regardless.

“Erik—”

Erik shook his head and got to his feet stiffly, studiously avoiding Charles’ eyes as he straightened his own clothes and picked up his discarded briefcase. "This doesn’t mean I’m staying,” Erik finally said, still refusing to look at Charles, fingers tightening around the handle of his briefcase.

Charles wanted to say so much more— _do_ so much more—to avoid Erik’s departure, but he could sense that there was nothing he could say that would make any sort of difference. “Think about what I’ve said,” he finally replied, voice hoarse and his legs feeling quite like jelly as he pushed away from the wall. “You could have a place here, with me, with _us_.”

Before Erik could do anything else, Charles turned, shakily making his way back to the room he'd been giving in the base, trying his best to appear less shaken than he felt.

He was sure he didn't quite manage.

He had a feeling tonight would change everything. 


End file.
